two wine glasses, filled them with champagne and ambled into the living room. It was small and didn't have much furniture, but what it did have was in good taste. Faith had that. Joanna didn't, which wasn't to say that he hadn't liked the house they'd shared. It had been an old thing on the outskirts of Cambridge. They'd bought it soon after they married, thinking that renovating it would be good therapy for Sawyer, and it had been that. He'd taken pride in stripping and staining the woodwork, putting in a new floor, updating the kitchen. It had given him a sense of accomplishment. Joanna's satisfaction came through his--and through filling the place with homespun things. Nothing matched. She had no eye for style or design. She created a cozy clutter that, unfortunately, began to grate on Sawyer when he grew to want breathing space.
Faith's place, small though it was, had breathing space. He was amazed that he thought so, since he'd had enough wine to create the illusion of closeness and warmth, but he felt perfectly comfortable here.
He walked around the sofa and perched against its back, which ran parallel to the glass sliders that looked out on the harbor. Actually, he mused, the view was sideways. It took in as much of the city as the harbor. As for details, he couldn't see many. The glass was reflecting the room behind him more strongly than anything else.
"Cheers," he said, and held one of the wine glasses out toward his reflection in the glass. He was about to take a sip when his reflection was joined by Faith's. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and without her heels, seemed suddenly more petite.
"Come," he told her reflection.
"I want to make a toast."
"Another toast," she breathed. Rounding the sofa, she came to his side and took one of the glasses.
"Cheers," she said.
"/ want to make the toast."
She stopped the glass an inch before her mouth.
"Okay. You make the toast."
"Cheers," he said and took a drink.
She laughed, declared his toast, "Profound," and sipped the champagne.
"Ah," she said when the last of the bubbles had slipped down her throat.
"Nice. Did you miss me?"
"Sure did. I was trying to look out your window, but I couldn't."
"Wait," she said. Holding her glass to the side, she went back through the room and turned off the light.
"There." She returned to the nook he'd found behind the sofa.
"Like it?"
He stood and moved close to the glass.
"Oh, yeah. It's different from mine. You can see the city. And the boats in their slips. You even have a patio."
"You have a balcony." "This is different. Must be the trees. How did you manage to get trees in here?"
"Sanguinetti Landscaping. They specialize in potted things. Nice flowers and shrubs and plants and stuff. I wanted green."
He turned to look at her. She was faintly lit by the reflection of the city lights, and seemed almost ephemeral.
"You're a very wise girl. I don't understand why some man hasn't snapped you up yet."
"I've only been divorced for a year."
"But you're a catch." He returned to the sofa and sat close by her side.
"Didn't someone tell me you dated Paul Agnes for a while?"
"Twice. We went out twice."
"Didn't like him?"
She sipped her champagne.
"Not enough."
"To go to bed with him?" "Right. That was pretty much all he wanted. Why was that, Sawyer?
Why is that? I thought times had changed. I thought AIDS had put the fear of God into singles. But sex has been the one thing that's first and foremost on the minds of the men I've seen since the divorce. Not that I've seen that many. I'm not in a rush to get involved with anyone. I'm busy with work. I rather like being able to come and go as I please. And I'm not lonely, except sometimes a guy will ask me out for dinner or to a show and it sounds like fun. So I go. And it is fun, until we get back here and he wants to come in. If I say no, he's angry. If I say yes, he's into touchy and feely before you can blink an eye, and when I say no to that, he's doubly
Faith's place, small though it was, had breathing space. He was amazed that he thought so, since he'd had enough wine to create the illusion of closeness and warmth, but he felt perfectly comfortable here.
He walked around the sofa and perched against its back, which ran parallel to the glass sliders that looked out on the harbor. Actually, he mused, the view was sideways. It took in as much of the city as the harbor. As for details, he couldn't see many. The glass was reflecting the room behind him more strongly than anything else.
"Cheers," he said, and held one of the wine glasses out toward his reflection in the glass. He was about to take a sip when his reflection was joined by Faith's. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and without her heels, seemed suddenly more petite.
"Come," he told her reflection.
"I want to make a toast."
"Another toast," she breathed. Rounding the sofa, she came to his side and took one of the glasses.
"Cheers," she said.
"/ want to make the toast."
She stopped the glass an inch before her mouth.
"Okay. You make the toast."
"Cheers," he said and took a drink.
She laughed, declared his toast, "Profound," and sipped the champagne.
"Ah," she said when the last of the bubbles had slipped down her throat.
"Nice. Did you miss me?"
"Sure did. I was trying to look out your window, but I couldn't."
"Wait," she said. Holding her glass to the side, she went back through the room and turned off the light.
"There." She returned to the nook he'd found behind the sofa.
"Like it?"
He stood and moved close to the glass.
"Oh, yeah. It's different from mine. You can see the city. And the boats in their slips. You even have a patio."
"You have a balcony." "This is different. Must be the trees. How did you manage to get trees in here?"
"Sanguinetti Landscaping. They specialize in potted things. Nice flowers and shrubs and plants and stuff. I wanted green."
He turned to look at her. She was faintly lit by the reflection of the city lights, and seemed almost ephemeral.
"You're a very wise girl. I don't understand why some man hasn't snapped you up yet."
"I've only been divorced for a year."
"But you're a catch." He returned to the sofa and sat close by her side.
"Didn't someone tell me you dated Paul Agnes for a while?"
"Twice. We went out twice."
"Didn't like him?"
She sipped her champagne.
"Not enough."
"To go to bed with him?" "Right. That was pretty much all he wanted. Why was that, Sawyer?
Why is that? I thought times had changed. I thought AIDS had put the fear of God into singles. But sex has been the one thing that's first and foremost on the minds of the men I've seen since the divorce. Not that I've seen that many. I'm not in a rush to get involved with anyone. I'm busy with work. I rather like being able to come and go as I please. And I'm not lonely, except sometimes a guy will ask me out for dinner or to a show and it sounds like fun. So I go. And it is fun, until we get back here and he wants to come in. If I say no, he's angry. If I say yes, he's into touchy and feely before you can blink an eye, and when I say no to that, he's doubly
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